| What’s the major malfunction?
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| Got the whole rhyme under construction
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| Built brick to brick, my style of rhyme sick
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| Ras' be the quick to smack yo' ass fast
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| Teamed with Evidence, he’s here, my man is classic material
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| Solefather the Grand Imperial
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| You and your crew need the milk plus the cereal
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| Break out the bowl, the shit’s outta control
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| Brothas on patrol, they checkin' what ya stole
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| The whole, world is, looking amazed
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| Smack you so hard you’ll be laid up for days
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| Taking X-rays for broken backs and bones
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| While I be on the phone and counting stacks at home
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| Spittin' rhymes chrome, make 'em shine and glisten
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| Coming up missing, better give mines a listen
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| Brothas still wishin', better call the cops
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| And brothas still waitin' for the joint to drop
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| Well, here it is, right in your face, the first taste
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| Swingin' for the fence, you chillin' at first base
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| The only nigga up in the place with rhyme flows
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| To attract chickenheads and pullin' these fine hoes
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| Whenever wind blows, I’m bringin' it top notch
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| And more hard to swallow than marriage in hot scotch
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| Show me what you got, you claimin' that shit’s hot
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| Well, I claim it’s not, I came to knock snot out your nose
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| Knock you back 36 rows
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| The first-year rookie that be killin' the pros
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| Bring the contract, explode on contact
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| You chillin' on the bench like Nevin and Koncak
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| Hand to hand, combat’s what it is
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| And brothas still screamin', «Ras', kick it for the kids»
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| Well, that’s cool, spent 12 years in school
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| Got no diploma, now you chillin' by the pool
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| That even yours, I seen it all before
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| Sold a million records, now selling door to door
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| Polyester suits and tryna grab recruits
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| What happened to them days of women and mad loot?
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| All up in flames, I’m tired of playing these games
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| Three thousand niggas that all sound the same
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| Blow a nigga’s frame and send him the snapshots
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| Play a little hockey then hit 'em with slapshots
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| The one time trigger effect is now done
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| The last man standing and hittin' the stretch run
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| Spittin' bubble gum, I’m spittin' the hard shit
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| The infrared scope and hittin' the target
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| Bulls-eye, give me my points for phat joints
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| At 33 a game, I put 'em all to shame
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| Who you gonna blame when your shit don’t sell?
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| I play the postman for stackin' the most mail
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| Hot up on they trail, I track 'em like white folks
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| Grab 'em by they neck and spin 'em like bike spokes
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| No need to smoke, I need my brain cells
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| The brotha that’s been know for slicing the frame well
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| Now what
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| («Rasco») |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Bits & Pieces , by - Rasco. Song from the album Time Waits For No Man, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп